Pictures
by crazyidea-inc
Summary: A series of pictures of Harry and Ginny after the war. Spoilers for DH.
1. Chapter 1

She wanted Harry. She _needed _Harry.

He knew what she was going through, the guilt of being a survivor, the numbness that was slowly fading to a persistent and yawning ache. He'd known for years what she was going through. She'd never thought to ask. Now there were no words.

Ginny shifted in her armchair in front of the Gryffindor Common Room fire. She wanted to be furious at him. She wanted her anger to drown out the grief that threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to be alone. She wanted him. She wanted to feel angry. She didn't want to feel at all.

She considered leaving, but found that her legs would no longer support her. It was as though Fred had taken all her strength with him when he died, as if the price of living when so many did not was this horrible, agonizing weakness. She felt as if the dementors hadn't really left at all, as if all the happiness in the world _had _disappeared.

"Ginny?" It was Harry. She hadn't even heard the portrait hole open. "I thought you'd be up here." She sat up, back straight and entire body tensed for a fight that she wasn't even sure why she wanted. He walked around to the armchair opposite hers and sat down, looking at her expectantly.

Oh yes, he certainly had the right to expect something now, didn't he? She swallowed hard, refusing to look at him. After a whole summer of wanting to cry or scream, after a year of atrocities and torture, after a battle that would haunt her nightmares until the day she died, it came to this. She was going to be angry. She wasn't going to let him, or anybody else, try to make this better.

"Ginny, I'm sorry," Harry said in a low voice. Her face literally felt as if it would explode, and her jaw felt like granite. The now familiar feeling of self-derision surfaced like a monster in her chest that instead of scraping and scratching at her insides, settled somewhere in the pit of her chest and smoldered.

"Not your fault," she said shortly. And it wasn't. But it was, too. It was everyone's fault, everyone, but most especially hers. Her heart began to thump hysterically in her chest and a horribly familiar burning sensation crept into her throat. _I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry._

"Don't be stupid, of course it's my fault," Harry said with a bitter smile. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He looked exhausted, miserable, much like Ginny herself felt. He didn't look like a man who had just defeated the most evil wizard of all time, winning revenge for his parents and countless others. He looked like a lost little boy.

"How can you say that?" she snapped suddenly, after a beat.

"What?" he said dully. His eyes were oddly dead in the firelight. The monster in her chest reared as if slapped, then burst into life, roaring.

"You," she said very quietly. Harry looked up, slightly wary. "You - you _stupid_, stupid _boy_," she said, voice shaking as it rose. "You are _not_, simply _not, _blaming yourself!" Harry stood, alarmed, and Ginny stood too, furious, determined to goad the life back into him.

"Ginny - "

"Why do you do this?" she shouted, and Harry flinched."Always noble, always the hero, damn you, Harry, just be _Harry_!"

She realized she was crying, and as soon as she did, her chest spasmed with horrible, painful sobs that she clenched in her throat, so intent on maintaining control that she held her breath, ignoring the hot tears streaking down her cheeks. She stood tall, glaring at Harry defiantly, daring him to run.

But without hesitation, Harry stepped forward and hugged her, and for some reason, instead of making her feel better, it brought everything crashing back down on her. Her control broke and she cried like a heartbroken little girl without restraint or care. Everything hurt, everything _hurt_: the battle, the loss of her brother and so many others, and suddenly she knew why she was so scared to see Harry, why she had wanted to push him away.

He had been dead. He had been dropped, practically at her feet, dead. And now here she was, sobbing into Harry's shoulder, the sound of his heart beating and the feel of his chest rising and falling two testaments to the survival of the person she thought she had lost forever, and it terrified her.

"I'm being so stupid!" she cried finally, face screwed up against the ever-present fear. Harry didn't say anything, merely pulled her closer and tighter to him. "You've-you've saved everyone - _everyone_ - ! This is absolutely _horrid_..."

"I rather like it," Harry murmured into her hair. "I haven't seen you in ages, it feels like. And at least you aren't yelling anymore." He paused. "You're very pretty when you're angry though." There was a strange feeling near her midriff, like laughing, but she didn't want to laugh. Did she?

"I missed you," she whispered into his chest. "So much." She could feel his tears seeping into her hair, which startled her, but somehow comforted her as well.

"I love you, Ginny," Harry said, very, very quietly. She took her arms from around his neck, and leaned backwards so she could see his face, pale with tears streaking all the dirt and (she bit back a gasp) blood.

"You love me?" she asked, barely audible. Harry looked nervous, but he also had an odd determined look in his eyes that were framed by his lopsided glasses.

"Yes," he said without blinking. She nodded, not moving.

"I love you, too," she said firmly, straightening his glasses. Harry smiled, and he looked a little less tired.

"That's - well, that's good."

"I never got to tell you," she added in a quieter voice, tears threatening again. Harry looked at her with his green eyes that had been closed, she thought for forever, only hours before, she had thought she'd never see them again, and what if he _had _died, what if she really had never gotten to tell him - ?

She threw her arms back around his neck and kissed him, full on the mouth. He toppled backwards onto the couch, thrown off balance and she broke off the kiss, worried that she'd hit some of his no doubt numerous bruises. But instead, laughing, he pulled her down with him. He looked relieved - not quite normal, but no longer as if he was going to disappear. She began to cry again.

He laid down beside her, watching her cry, letting down her guard a little bit at a time.

"I thought you'd left me behind, Harry."

"Never."

Here is a picture of survival: a boy and a girl - bloodstained, bruised, but never beaten - asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The months that passed until summer were painful, to say the least, but however painful they were for Ginny, she knew that it had to be that much more so for Harry.

It seemed the whole Wizarding World felt that he had not given them enough in stopping Voldemort. No, he must pay his respects at all the funerals of those who had died in the final battle as well as memorials for fighters, saboteurs, and others who had aided the resistance. Some of them Harry knew - like Colin Creevey, and Remus and Tonks - but most he did not. After those funerals, however, Harry seemed to mourn the dead he had not known just as much as the dead he had. He lost a great deal of weight and spent most of his time in his room at the Burrow.

Mrs. Weasley had insisted that Harry stay, despite his protests that she had enough to be going on with without a houseguest. But Ginny felt - and suspected her mother agreed - that the worst thing anyone could do was leave Harry alone. As it was, he seemed alive out of duty. They were killing him, those oblivious survivors, who pushed upon Harry the lives of their sons, their daughters, their mothers and fathers. And Harry bore it all with dignity, and feeling, and he knew the names of the dead as if engraved on his skin and he spoke at every graveside. But only Ron, Hermione, and Ginny could see how the memorials and tombs and guilt and death were slowly eating away at him.

The memory of that summer that would never fully fade for Ginny was Fred's funeral. Every detail, from what she wore to the crack in the wood of the pew that she sat in could be called up at the slightest reminder. Yet she found, as time went on, that though she never stopped missing Fred, her rememberances of him balanced out the sadness. She would never be fine, she knew; but perhaps she would be okay.

Slowly, the stream of funerals became a trickle, and then stopped altogether.

Her father stopped staying late at work. Her mother stopped sleeping through entire days. And Harry, ever the survivor, began to come back to them.

And then, suddenly, it was Harry's birthday. He'd gotten the Chocolate Card with his face on it from Ron (his face when he opened it), a book - surprise, surprise - on Aurors from Hermione, and a collective gift from the Weasley family of assorted sweets. Ginny had been at a loss as to what to get for him. In the end she settled on a snitch, a decent one, second-hand, but added to that the promise of a two-a-side Quidditch game with Ron, who had needed no convincing, and Hermione, who had needed quite a bit of convincing.

It neither too hot nor too cold that afternoon, when they all clambered onto their brooms. Harry accelerated and zoomed around the make-shift pitch, whooping and for once looking his age. Ron, surprisingly at ease with his blossoming relationship with Hermione, was hovering beside her, giving her tips and patiently waiting to drift off until it was time to begin.

Ginny herded Hermione to their side of the pitch, ignoring her friend's muffled squeaks of fear. She could see, out of the corner of her eye, Bill and Fleur watching with Charlie. She shot sparks up into the air with her wand, Ron hurled the Quaffle as high as he could into the air, and the game began.

Harry, naturally, immediately shot off towards a glint of gold that she could barely see. Hermione managed to catch the Quaffle, and, delighted that she had made this small victory, wobbled unsteadily on her broom without moving, leaving Ron to snatch it from her hands with a half-apologetic laugh. Hermione jerkily sped after him, looking shocked, but amused, and Ginny dogged Harry.

They must have played for hours, starting over whenever Harry inevitably caught the snitch, ignoring the shadows deepening and the purple sky. Their spectators had multiplied, however, with the arrival of Andromeda and Teddy, who had come over for lunch, and the rest of the Weasley clan. Even George cheered when Hermione, by some miracle, scored a goal.

Harry was getting a bit cocky, she could tell, which was good, as he hadn't been properly cocky in a good while, but that didn't mean she was going to catch the snitch at least once. A plan, an evil, evil plan formed in her mind.

This time when the snitch was released and the Quaffle launched into the air, she didn't let Harry gain an inch on her. She was behind him, yes, but invariably by only half a foot. When he stretched out his arm to catch the little blur of gold yet again, she shot forward and kissed him. The hand he was stretching out gripped his broom for balance and Ginny, grinning against his lips, reached her arm out and deftly caught the snitch.

"THAT'S CHEATING!" she could hear Ron bellowing, but she could hear Fleur's distinctive voice egging her on. Harry jerked back, his face comically surprised, but it relaxed into a grin and he laughed a real laugh which easily beat the feeling of sneaky victory. She glanced at her family, suddenly sheepish, but only Percy looked particularly taken aback. Meanwhile, Charlie was howling with George and Bill, while her father smiled, his arm around her mother.

They retired then, after coaxing Hermione down from the air, as she had somehow managed to point the broom upwards, where it stuck, and where she kicked her legs uselessly, imploring pitifully, "Can we go inside now?" Harry and Ginny lingered back from the rest of the group with the excuse of putting up the brooms.

"Thank you," Harry murmured, and he kissed her cheek. Ginny grinned at him, feeling lighter than air. She bumped him with her hip. He bumped her back. She bumped him again.

"You're welcome," she replied and despite a great deal of meandering and distractions, they managed to put up the brooms and walked back to the Burrow, hand in hand.

Here is a picture of innocence: a note, a flower, and the blush of a girl who finds them on the table for all to see.


	3. Chapter 3

It was the hottest day of the summer. Mrs. Weasley quickly tired of everyone lounging around complaining about the heat, and at last tersely suggested that if they weren't going to do anything but whine, they ought to get out of the house. Hermione suggested swimming, and everyone raced to don their swimming suits and run to a nearby lake.

The water was deliciously cool, and the weather-beaten little dock was perfect for napping, which Percy immediately took advantage of. Charlie, on the other hand, took to splashing everyone and dunking Ron. Hermione had brought a book, but abandoned it to laugh at Ron's indignant sputtering at being dunked every five minutes. Even George, though far quieter than his old self, managed a chuckle or two. Ginny made a few laps, basking in the lovely light feeling of swimming.

"Come in," she called to Harry, who was sitting on the edge of the dock, toes skimming the surface of the lake.

"I dunno," he called back, adjusting his glasses.

"Aw, it's not so bad - come in," she urged, smiling, but Harry shook his head. She waded over to him and began to tug on his feet. "What's the matter?"

"Ginny - "

"C'mon. It's only cold for a second, I promise you." 

"That's not it, I just - "

"What?"

"I don't know how to swim."

She blinked.

"But you swam in the Black Lake, no problem," she reminded him. He shook his head.

"Gillyweed, remember? The Dursley's never let me have lessons. I think they hoped I would drown," he said with a grin, but it was somewhat embarassed. "I can deal with shallow water, but nothing bigger than a pool." Ginny looked around at the lake, which, clearly, was a great deal bigger than a pool.

"He's got that right - remember Gryffindor's sword, mate," Ron called, grinning, while Hermione slapped his arm. Charlie dunked him again. George chuckled. Harry looked at Ginny as if to say, "You see?"

Ginny surveyed him for a moment, then heaved herself out of the water and plucked his glasses off, neatly folding them and setting them safely away from the edge.

"Get ready for your first swimming lesson, Mr. Potter," she said firmly before he could even begin to open his mouth, and pushed him off the dock. Harry had time only for a yelp before the water engulfed him. He shot back up, coughing and splashing. Ginny quickly slipped into the water, and kept his head above the surface.

"Ginny, what are you - "

"Calm down. You won't float if you panic. Now breathe." Harry obeyed, albeit with a wet scowl. He looked utterly hilarious with his unkempt hair flattened against his forehead.

"Can I get out now?" he asked with terrible patience. Ginny shook her head.

"There's no difference between three feet and ten feet if you know how to do it properly," she said encouragingly. "Come on...kick your legs a bit...yeah...and move your arms - no, like this - " She demonstrated how, and Harry, ever athletic, caught on quickly. Within thirty minutes, he'd ventured to the middle of lake where he swam like a veritable fish.

Ginny lay on her stomach on the dock, drying, watching him.

"Told you could do it," she said smugly as he dog-paddled over to her. He rested his forearms on the warm wood of the dock.

"Yeah, yeah. This is a decent sight better than diving into a freezing cold lake full of homicidal merpeople or being strangled underwater by necklaces. Can I have my glasses back now?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. Ginny slid them onto his nose, which wrinkled as he grinned.

They were silent for awhile, listening to the gentle slapping of the water and the occasional burst of laughter from Charlie, George, and Ron accompanied by Hermione's half-indignant, half-tickled response. Ginny followed a droplet of water making its way down Harry's forehead with her finger, stopping at his scar.

She traced it gently, zig-zagging her finger up and down.

"Isn't it funny?" Harry asked after a bit. She stopped. He was looking at her in such a way that despite the warm sun on her skin, she shivered with goosebumps.

"What's funny?" she asked belatedly.

"It's all over now. My scar. Voldemort. Everything."

Ginny smiled, lightly skimming her finger down his nose. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

Harry smiled back. Then pulled her headfirst into the water. Bubbles swirled around her in the murky water and she broke the surface with a shriek. Harry floated beside her, smirking. She splashed him, glasses and all, and he splashed her back.

"You may have saved the Wizarding World, but you're no match for me, Potter!"

"I laugh at your challenge!'

They kicked water at each other wildly, laughing like the teenagers they were, only stopping when Percy was accidentally splashed and grumpily asked if they wouldn't mind moving their game somewhere else. They did, and played until the cool of the evening settled on the lake.

Here is a picture of realization: a boy and a girl, watching a baby.


	4. Chapter 4

"Are all babies this messy?" Harry asked, making a face as Teddy blew bubbles on his neck, absentmindedly exploring Harry's nose with a tiny hand. Ginny merely grinned at him.

They were sitting on a blanket in the living room, surrounded by discarded toys that Teddy had deemed beneath his attention. Crookshanks was sitting on a chair behind Harry, tail swishing, watching Teddy reproachfully. Crookshanks, for all his grumpiness, had been surprisingly patient with tail-pullings and being suddenly grabbed and rib-crushing hugs. But, cat that he was, he had still taken to staying out of Teddy's reach whenever he came to be babysat.

She could hear her mother, Fleur and Andromeda talking in the kitchen, and the sound of laughter from outside, where Bill, Charlie, Hermione, and Ron were de-gnoming the garden. She could not bear the idea of leaving the Burrow, but school was fast approaching. She hadn't decided whether or not she would return. Her mother was insisting she go and Ginny wasn't pushing the point, but she didn't want to think about eating and walking and living where so many had died.

Teddy giggled, pulling her out of her reverie.

"He's so cute," she squealed, watching with amusement as Harry disentangled the baby's hands from his glasses. "Aren't you, you cutie?" she cooed, rescuing Harry and taking Teddy into arms. "Aren't you?" She rubbed noses with the baby, who stared at her with wide, curious eyes.

"You're good with him," Harry commented. Ginny looked up, letting Teddy feel her hair with sticky fingers. Harry was watching her with a half-smile on his face. Abruptly, she wondered what Harry's baby would be like. She blushed.

"I don't like kids," she muttered, embarrassed. "But Teddy's a good baby." Harry shrugged, still watching her.

"And you're good with him," he said, leaning back into the chair, causing Crookshanks to retreat a few inches cautiously. He turned red as well, and he looked away and reached a hand back to Crookshanks. The cat sniffed at it, then bumped it with his nose, demanding to be rubbed. Harry scratched behind the cat's ears for a bit, avoiding her eyes.

Ginny returned her attention to Teddy, who was opening and closing his mouth with apparent delight that he could do so. Struck by a novel idea, he grabbed a hank of her hair and inserted into his mouth, then took it out, not pleased by its feel. He looked at her as if to ask why she didn't taste better, then went back to blowing bubbles.

Crookshanks leapt off the chair, leaving the three of them alone. For a moment, Ginny allowed herself the luxury of daydreaming about the children she and Harry might have. She thought that, perhaps, she wouldn't mind kids so much if they were a part of Harry. But not now. Not until later, much later. And, of course, they'd have to marry first and -

She felt warmth creep up her neck to her ears. Just...not now.

Teddy yawned.

"Time to go to sleep?" she asked him, and his eyes slipped closed. "I'll take that as a yes." She carefully stood up, adjusting so that Teddy wasn't jostled, and carried him to the crib hastily set up for the afternoon in Charlie's old room on the first floor, Harry right behind them.

She laid the baby down, placing his blanket over him, and straightened. They stood there a moment, she and Harry, looking at Teddy sleep.

"I guess he's cute," Harry said after a moment. Ginny rolled her eyes and swatted at him.

"You're just jealous," she informed him and he shrugged self-deprecatingly.

"I can't compete with that," he sighed. "No one can compete with that level of adorableness." Ginny laughed quietly, tugging him out of the room. For all that he complained, Harry was very attentive of his godson. Ginny rather thought he'd make a wonderful father. She closed the door behind them gently, only to be pulled into a kiss immediately.

"I like kids. Let's have a dozen," Harry said lightly when they broke apart. Ginny appraised him, gauging on how flippant he was being. He looked back, eyes crinkled with affection. She cocked her head, suddenly shy.

"Yes, let's," she said after a beat, smiling, and she pecked him on the nose. He slipped an arm around her waist and they walked back to the living room where Ron and Hermione had settled.

They sat around, lazily chatting, and all the while she and Harry held hands.

_Not now_, Ginny thought. _But maybe later._

Here is a picture of relief: a boy being engulfed in a hug on a doorstep by a girl who has missed him very much.


	5. Chapter 5

Summer ended and became fall, which in its turn then gave way to winter. Ginny had been at school, and the consistency and structure kept her sane, although she couldn't eat in the Great Hall anymore. She had been extremely reluctant to go at all, but in the end her father had convinced her. He had been right, of course, though she still worried. As holidays approached, however, she realized that she was just as nervous about returning home as she had been about leaving.

Harry and Hermione had been reluctant to visit, but Mr. Weasley had insisted. Ginny was beyond grateful. Not only was it wonderful to see both of them after so many months, but discreetly and without fail they both were invaluable around the house.

This was particularly helpful as the Weasleys had finally hit the inevitable brick wall. Gone was the joyous messiness of spring and summer, and with the Christmas season came a renewal of grief. George, who had seemed to have started to adapt to life without a twin, retreated to his room, along with Mrs. Weasley. The pang of a blank where a person should have been infiltrated the entire Burrow. They had taken a step forward, only to be dragged three spaces back.

It took more than a bit of pleading and pushing to get Harry out of the house, but at last Ginny did it. Part of it wasn't really out of concern for Harry, but a desperate need to free herself from the Burrow, to get away from the struggling efforts of decorating spearheaded by her father. She supposed this meant she was a bad person. She found that she didn't care.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked for the umpteenth time. He had been relatively quiet as Ginny led him farther and farther away from the Burrow, heading towards a little hill, but as the minutes stretched into an hour, he seemed less patient.

"Almost there," Ginny replied, glancing back at him. Perhaps this wasn't what he needed; perhaps this was what she needed. Perhaps this was just being selfish. She shrugged that off impatiently, surprised at the sting in her eyes that she knew had nothing to do with the cold.

By the time they got to the hill, Ginny had given up.

She sat down in the snow, looking over at the what seemed to her the whole, wide world, white, empty, and very cold. It had seemed such a good idea, but she should have known it was going to be a wasted effort. Sitting on a stupid hill, getting away from the Burrow, dragging Harry along with her - none of it was going to make her forget the fact that Fred really was dead and that her family was never going to be able to recover from it.

She closed her eyes, trying to regain the optimism that had fueled the outing, but it sputtered and died. The awful, tell-tale twinge in her nose began.

"Well, this is it," she announced as brightly as she could muster, not turning around. It was so silent that she could hear Harry's every breath.

"This is it," he repeated after a beat. The twinge in her nose intensified and spread to clench her throat. He was trying very hard not to sound disappointed, but she wasn't an idiot. She gathered her will, preparing to make the long trek home, and stood up. She turned around.

And was met with a snowball to the face.

Wet, slushy, freezing snow sliding off her face, she gaped at Harry who had an odd expression on his face, a combination of mischief and surprise at his own daring. They stared at each other for a moment.

"Well, are you just going to take that?" Harry challenged at last. Immediately Ginny scooped up a snowball of her own and shot it at him with the unerring aim and force of a Chaser. It splattered on his nose and without warning they were both heaving snow at each other, running and sliding and charging.

Harry penguin-slid down the hill, into a bit of dense brush, followed quickly by Ginny. She reached the bottom with a tumble and popped up immediately, expecting an ambush, but Harry was nowhere to be seen.

She carefully scoured the area, but there was nothing, not a crunch of snow, not a flash of color, not a patch of footprints. She began to advance.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she called, snowball raised and ready to fire. She heard a quiet and wicked, "Heh, heh, heh," and turned to see three magically propelled snowballs zooming towards her. One smacked her in the shoulder, another blinded her, while the other whizzed away harmlessly. Wiping her eyes clear, she spotted Harry, who had doubled back behind her, grinning.

He shot off quickly, and she ran after him, laughing. She suspected he let her tackle him to the ground, although there was some honest resistance when she threatened to pack snow down the back of his neck. There was no resistance at all, however, when she kissed him.

"Thank you," she whispered. A shadow passed over them.

"It might be a little early for that," Harry said with a grin, and he flicked his wand. An enormous mound of snow dropped on top of them. Ginny, shrieking, flailed out of it, while Harry laughed at her from the ground, having escaped most of the snow. She collapsed back in the snow, stuck her tongue out, and stared up into the blank, grey sky.

She watched the snow drift down towards her, listening to Harry chuckle a bit. She began to laugh, feeling as if the ground would lift off with her with it. She laughed and laughed and laughed until she began to cry.

And then Harry was beside her, and he drew her into his arms while she sobbed.

"I know," he said. "I know." And he did.

They lay there for what felt like an eternity, but what really must have been a half-hour at most. And somehow, by the time they had gotten back, Mr. Weasley had finished decorating, and George and Mrs. Weasley had emerged, and Ron and Hermione were bickering, and although it was not perfect, the imperfections were what saved them. Charlie could still enthrall them with stories of the dragon reservations. Percy could still bore them to tears. Celestina Warbeck's voice could still drive Fleur up the wall. And Bill was still (and there was no other word for it) cool.

Christmas passed, and Ginny returned to school. She graduated. She returned home. And then, with the persistent spinning of the earth, summer came.

It was funny, for Ginny couldn't remember the exact moment when life as it was became normal. Not the way it had been, but a new kind of normal. The wheels and gears of her family found a way to work without one of the pieces.

In its odd little way, life nudged them along.

Here is a picture of beginnings: a family table filled with laughter.


	6. Chapter 6

Everyone had gone to bed, and in the stillness of the night, the Burrow groaned and complained in the way old houses do. Ginny lay awake in the dark, trying to sleep, but her mind wouldn't let her. She was thinking on what she wanted to do. The Holyhead Harpies had try-outs coming up...

She mused, turning this way and that was when she heard a squeak on the landing.

She didn't understand why she got out of bed and opened her door to see who it was, but before she had even consciously made a decision, she had swung the door open and there stood Harry. He jumped and swore in a whisper.

"_Merlin_, Ginny..."

"Sorry," Ginny said quietly. "What are you doing?" Harry shrugged guiltily.

"I couldn't sleep," he replied evasively. Ginny watched him for a minute. He was still too skinny, and the dark circles under his eyes seemed permanant. She made up her mind.

"Well, I can't either, so we might as well not sleep together. Come in." She jerked her head to indicate her bedroom. Harry stared at her.

"Your room?" His voice cracked on 'room,' and Ginny bit back a smirk.

"No, the pantry. _Yes_, my room, Potter." Harry continued to stand on the hall, bouncing shiftily on the balls of his feet.

"Er...what about your dad? And your brothers? Ron?" he asked pointedly. Ginny waved her hand impatiently.

"They're asleep and I'm lonely. Please come in."

"If you're sure..."

"Just come in," Ginny said exasperatedly. She plopped back down on her bed, and Harry, ever chivalrous, sat on the floor and leaned against her bed, but made no move to get on the bed with her. Ginny made a face. "You know I can't let you sit there on the floor without pillows." He shook his head, but Ginny dropped a pillow on him anyway.

"If it's a pillow fight you want, it's a pillow fight you'll get," Harry warned her.

Ginny dropped a blanket on his head anyway.

They both got settled, Harry stretching out his legs and Ginny burrowing herself into her pillows. She could just make out the top tufts of his persistantly messy hair over the edge of the bed.

"This is weird," Harry said after a moment. Ginny laughed.

"Relax, please. I sleep easier knowing where you are, anyway. You have this awful habit of going off and doing dangerous things." He chuckled.

"I suppose I do," he said with a practically audible eye roll.

"You do!" Ginny insisted. "First year - well, second year for you - I pass out and wake up in the Chamber of Secrets to a dead basilisk and you holding a sword. And second year you're running around with a convict, and third year you did the Triwizard Tournament - Harry, there hasn't been a _single year _where you haven't gotten mixed up with something potentially life-threatening." Harry was silent, and for a moment she worried she'd offended him. But then he spoke.

"I always wondered - do you ever think about the Chamber of Secrets?" he asked and had anyone else asked her that, she would've changed the subject or not replied. As it was, she shifted uncomfortably.

"I...yes," she said at last. "There were dreams - nightmares, really - that I had for awhile, but they're - they're mostly gone."

"Mostly gone?" Harry asked and Ginny chewed on her lip before replying.

"Mostly." A pause.

"I have nightmares, too."

"What are they about?" she asked and he waited awhile to reply.

"I dream that everyone's dead," he said at last, in a soft, flat voice. "Ron, Hermione, you...you're all dead. And Voldemort is there, and he's laughing, and I can't do a thing." He paused, then cleared his throat. "What are yours about?" 

"Oh," Ginny said quietly, processing what he had just said, "I dream that I'm back in the Chamber...and he's there and he's...well...he's telling me how he's going to kill you, and then kill me. I could hear everything he was saying, the whole time I was lying there, I just couldn't - " She stopped, unable to go on, and Harry seemed to sense this.

"I was just thinking...I mean, I guess I always did manage to get in some sort of trouble...but you're the only one I know who's actually faced Voldemort alone, too."

"I didn't face him, not like you did. I was a stupid little girl who wrote in a diary and didn't have the sense to tell anyone when it got out of hand," Ginny muttered, but she could see the top of Harry's head shaking before she'd even finished the sentence.

"You're the only one I know who's been possessed by him, too." Ginny snorted.

"We're destined for each other," she said with dark humor. Harry laughed quietly.

"Wish I'd figured that out sooner," he yawned, and she reached out a hand and ran her fingers through his hair. He leaned back into the bed, into her touch.

She woke up a few hours later, as the first light of dawn gently crept into the room, her fingers still entwined in his hair and Harry quite asleep, snoring, and looking startlingly at peace.

Here is a picture of healing: the laugh of a boy and girl who have a lifetime left to live.


End file.
